


Pure and Simple

by DeathFrisbee221



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fix-It of Sorts, Getting Together, John-centric, Love, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plothole Fill, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-The Final Problem, Rating May Change, Self-Reflection, Slow Burn, lightly hinted mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9354320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathFrisbee221/pseuds/DeathFrisbee221
Summary: John reflects on all that happened to get him to this point, here and now, with Sherlock Holmes.In his life, John Watson had experienced a lot of emotions and situations. He had fought for his country for Christ’s sake! But despite, or maybe because of, this he now knew that there were a few things he was sure of more than any others. He smiled as the sound of Sherlock singing Rosie to sleep filtered down to the living-room. Mycroft had been so wrong. Love really could be pure and simple. It wasn’t easy, he still wasn’t even used to it, but it felt peaceful and sublime. As he stood in the newly restored 221B he took a solitary moment to reflect on this past few months. It seemed he had spent lifetime looking for inner peace and love and he had found it at last, within these four walls.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In a way this was inspired by the new Dolly Parton song of the same name.  
> The song beautiful and worth a listen. Seriously.  
> Anyway betaed by my friend [Staying_Alive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Staying_Alive), but if you spot something do correct me. Comments are always welcome. This story is mostly finished, but I'll likely post the rest in chapters over the coming days. :)  
> Enjoy.

In his life, John Watson had experienced a lot of emotions and situations. He had fought for his country for Christ’s sake! But despite, or maybe because of, this he now knew that there were a few things he was sure of more than any others. He smiled as the sound of Sherlock singing Rosie to sleep filtered down to the living-room. Mycroft had been so wrong. Love really could be pure and simple. It wasn’t easy, he still wasn’t even used to it, but it felt peaceful and sublime. It seemed he had spent lifetime looking for inner peace and love and he had found it at last, within these four walls. As he stood in the restored 221B he took a solitary moment to reflect on this past few months.

***

Just before the explosion, in 221B Mycroft had quoted Wilde correctly, but the actual message hadn’t sat well with John. As he took stock of himself after crashing out the window, pain shooting through him at random intervals, he knew why. It wasn’t the first time he had toyed with the idea, but it was the first time he decided it was a truth he could not run away from anymore. Worst possible timing of course, but in those brief seconds when he thought he was going to die there were only two thoughts that flooded his brain and since he was being honest with himself, one of those thoughts was screaming its truth much louder than the other.

The first was, naturally he supposed, that his daughter would now grow up without both her parents. That Sherlock was also thinking, on some level, about John’s daughter; well it went hand in hand with his other thought. If there was anything in this world that John Watson was now totally and irrevocably convinced of, it was that his mad detective, Sherlock Holmes was exactly that, _his_.

He loved Sherlock, pure and simple.

 

When they were playing Eurus’ game he lost count of the amount of times he wished he could just talk to Sherlock alone, just tell him.

It was a wholehearted love. It was so unlike any other loves he had ever had with anyone else. Many of his loves had ended with broken hearts (like when Sherlock had faked his death…) and Mary… well Mary had been, in one word, complicated. He had loved her, but she always seemed to fall just short of enough. That was part of the reason he had begun texting the other woman from the bus. He needed the risk, the danger, or so he thought. He still needed to work through those emotions at some point, but this… this love that he had for his best friend, it was important. He couldn’t keep ignoring their connection. Sherlock had been put through the wringer for his happiness, and now there was a chance they would never be able to take those fragile next steps together. One of them could end up dead without Sherlock knowing.

When he saw the bones at the bottom of the well he knew what must have happened. The skull of a young child, not a pet. The key jammed inside the poor skull was barely a relief. The well was too deep to climb up. Even after unshackling himself his shoulder couldn’t cope with the strain. He was still trapped unless help got to him before hypothermia did.

It was then that he cried. He cried for the life he had lost with his daughter and he cried for the all the missed opportunities. He looked skyward, towards that moonlight and he prayed to God, just like he had in Afghanistan, with everything he had, tears flowing freely, he closed his eyes against the water coming in and prayed. He prayed for one last chance. One final chance to make things right, to let love truly conquer everything.

*

After John was checked over, his right wrist wrapped tightly, he and Sherlock were taken back to London. Neither of them spoke a word until the black sedan stopped outside John’s home. He unbuckled himself, before turning to observe Sherlock. The man was adamantly looking out the tint glass.

“Hey,” he began softly. When Sherlock turned to look at him he continued, “you should stay tonight. Since Baker Street is… You can stay here. If you want…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“I… okay.”

Too exhausted to do much more than give a small smile John clambered out of the car and, using his cane, made his way to the door.

Anthea opened the door just as he remembered his coat and keys had been lost in the explosion at 221B.

“I’m staying here to watch over Rosamund.” She said in a tone that John would have found difficult to argue with even in top form. “Go get some rest. Both of you. There is a temporary bed and change of clothes for you Sherlock in the baby’s room. I’ll be taking the sofa and I’ve moved her cot into the living room for now.”

Neither man could do much more than nod as they moved on autopilot. John towards his bedroom and Sherlock to what had been Rosie’s nursery. They needed to talk, but more than anything they needed rest and time to come to terms with everything that had happened.


	2. Direct aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter is still John recalling what happened in the past. Because we need all these plotholes and mising scenes filled in/fixed.

When John woke up, everything ached. Then everything came flooding back and it took all his strength not to rush down the hall and spill his heart out. Instead he gingerly tested the movement of his wrist and then got out of bed. He needed a hot shower and a cuppa. The noise of the kettle whistling drew him downstairs first. His leg panged numbly but he took one look at the cane by his bedside before squaring his shoulders and walking determinedly downstairs.

Anthea had made wholemeal toast and was nursing a coffee on one side and the baby in her highchair on the other. Her phone was charging on the counter by the coffeemaker that John honestly never used.

At the sight of her father, Rosie lost all interest in the stuffed rabbit Anthea was holding and began waving her little arms up at John and laughing. Sighing he attempted to smile back.

Looking up, Anthea gave him a nod and went to make the tea just as the noise of the shower being turned on upstairs brought John back to the present. He swallowed hard as he picked up his daughter.

“Good morning Rosie. Daddy’s sorry he wasn’t home yesterday, but he loves you very much, okay.”

*

John was nibbling down his second round of toast and tea when Sherlock finally made an appearance in the kitchen. The detective was wearing an off-white shirt and black trousers; nothing out of the ordinary for Sherlock, but just the sight of the man standing in the doorway, unease clear to all but the baby, set John’s head swimming a little.

“Is there any toast left?” he asked softly. Blinking John nodded.

“Should be. Tea too.” He caught the glance towards the coffee Anthea was holding. “Although I think you want a coffee. Yeah?”

“Please,” Sherlock agreed moving into the room now, “I think I may need quite a lot of caffeine today. I have quite a lot to still process.”

“Oh god,” John groaned aloud, “you haven’t slept, have you?!”

“I did sleep, just not enough apparently.” Sherlock shrugged. “I slept for a solid 8 hours. Even I know now when my body needs to recover, but today I need to compartmentalise the last week properly before I go see Mycroft.”

“Your brother is doing as well as one can expect. Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade is with him at present.” Anthea stated. “Sit yourself down. I’ll make you a coffee and some fresh toast while you watch Rosie for me. John needs to go take a shower.” Rosie giggled from her highchair as Anthea got up and bopped her little nose.

Glancing across at Sherlock, John offered a sheepish smile before draining his tea and standing.

“I won’t be away forever,” he told his daughter bending to press a kiss atop her hair. “You be good okay.”

*

John sat on his bed, towel wrapped around his waist. The shower had helped, definitely. He felt more like himself again. It was reassuring. He was just pulling on his red cardigan when he heard the front door open and close. Heart pounding, he ran down the stairs, body tense and eyes frantic.

“Sherlock! Rosie!”

“John,” Sherlock caught him firmly by his upper arms as he got to the kitchen. “John, it’s fine.”

“I heard the door. Where’s Rosie?” He asked looking past Sherlock into the kitchen.

“Anthea took her out for some air. They are going to the park. John, please, calm down.” Sherlock replied. “Your daughter is perfectly safe with Anthea. It’s fine.” Relief flooded through John and he crumpled against the detective.

“I thought-” he began.

“I know.” Sherlock interjected. “It’s fine.” When John straightened up, Sherlock let go and stepped back. “I’ll make us some tea.”

“No, I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can, but please, humour me?” Sighing John nodded and sunk down into his chair facing the plasma TV screen. “I can call Anthea if you want. She left me a mobile to get in touch if need be.”

“No. Rosie likes the ducks, it will be good for her.” _And I really need to talk to you, alone._ He thought. Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement as he filled the kettle. John took a deep breath and rested his head back. Eyes closed he could almost imagine himself back in Baker Street, with Mrs Hudson puttering about their kitchen and Sherlock silent in his mind palace. He smiled to himself, they could have that again perhaps. Sherlock’s baritone broke him from his daydream.

“Your tea will go cold.” He turned his head and opened his eyes. Sherlock met his glaze, staring across at him from the sofa. It was a few long seconds before the detective broke and looked down at the coffee table.

“Ah, right, thanks.” John muttered reaching down for his cup. Sherlock smiled and took his into both hands, blowing across it to cool it. The silence was, not exactly deafening, but it was almost comfortable.

“John,” Sherlock eventually spoke, “I should apologise. The danger I’ve inadvertently put you through these last few days,” he coughed, “months really, it was… well I wasn’t to know… I mean Eurus was… it shouldn’t…” he looked up, “I couldn’t protect you. I put you through-”

“Sherlock, stop!” John finally barked. “You could not possibly have known about any of that shit. I’m not blaming you.”

“But-”

“No, are you listening to me?” John set his tea down firmly. “This was not your fault. Christ, she put you through hell more than me.” He swallowed before continuing, “but we are alive, yeah.” He held out his left hand, “We both survived. The two of us.” Sherlock slid his hand into John’s tentatively.

“Against the rest of the world.” Sherlock finished with a smile.

“Exactly.”

“I thought this would have been the final straw.”

“Huh?”

“I thought you would hate me again. You’ve put up with so much already.”

“Well think again.” John laughed softly, giving Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. “I chose to follow you to Sherrinford. I chose to help you.” He added.

“Thank you.” Sherlock whispered. “And thank you for letting me stay last night.”

“Couldn’t have you crashing with Mrs Turner’s tenants, could I?”

“Anthea had an update regarding the flat actually,” answered Sherlock leaning back and letting go of John’s hand in favour of returning to his tea. “The building is structurally safe. She is going to get a second survey done, but it looks like once the floorboards and roof are repaired the clean-up can begin.” John’s eyes widened.

“That’s a relief. So, there wasn’t too much damage?”

“Well it was mainly fire damage. The explosion while enough to kill us had we not escaped, did not have as wide a blast radius as Mycroft thought. I think this was intentional on Eurus’ part. She wanted a decent chance of our survival to play her game. Of course, I have no idea what will be intact until I return and see for myself.”

“You can stay here until then.”

“John… I appreciate the offer but-”

“Where else would you go?” John asked outright.

“My parent’s cottage. Maybe Moll-” Sherlock hesitated. “Oh god... I need to apologise to Molly.”

“Yes, you do. She deserves an explanation.”

"I know." John frowned for a minute as they sat there. 

“Sherlock, do your parents even know what has happened yet? Mycroft hardly sounds like he would be up for telling them at present.” It took a while before Sherlock responded.

“True.” Sherlock looked out the window. “They’ll need to be informed and ideally Mycroft and I should tell them together.” He drained the last drops of tea and turned back to John. “I suppose, if you are sure, then I’ll stay here a little while longer. Thank you.”

“Any time.” John countered honestly giving Sherlock a warm smile, “After all, you are family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We haven't had much interaction between John and his daughter, so finding his voice when talking to Rosie has been one of the hardest parts of writing this so far. Comments are so welcomed. And if you spot an error or something please do let me know. Thank you for reading! More soon.


End file.
